


the calm before the storm

by thesquirrel_alixncvna



Series: fishsticks and gunpowder [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Black Widow Series - Margaret Stohl
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Bad Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, She tries, Sister-Sister Relationship, i love their relationship so sue me, natasha is not a cooking person, post black widow: forever red, pre-black widow: red vengeance, the night before everything goes to shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesquirrel_alixncvna/pseuds/thesquirrel_alixncvna
Summary: The operations equipment was incongruous against the shiny kitchen surfaces, but that had all been pushed out of the way in favour of pots and pans and chopping boards. Natasha was swearing at the oven while fiddling with its knobs and though she must have registered Ava’s entrance, she didn’t show it.“What are you-?”“Cooking.” Natasha leant back, hands on hips and blowing a frizzy lock out of her face, apparently having bullied the oven into submission.
Relationships: Ava Orlova & Natasha Romanov
Series: fishsticks and gunpowder [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138016
Kudos: 1





	the calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers for the novel Black Widow: Forever Red.
> 
> I've been sitting on this for a while, but here's what I say happened the night before Red Vengeance starts. I hope you enjoy!

Rio was beautiful.

Ava had never seen anything like it, not even in photographs. Not that the real-life vista could ever be replicated. Postcard pretty and cradled by the ocean, the rugged, forest-carpeted peaks of the mountain-spiked city were coruscating, charismatic and intimidating in their confidence, like those beautiful models in magazines that don’t even pretend not to know it. Ava had stolen a few out-dated supplements from the tiny rack at the Y and leafed through them with Sasha cat nestled in the dip where her legs crossed, gawking at page after page of flawlessness and luxury items with more zeros than she could count. Looking out at the cityscape, it was the exact same awe.  
But where the natural beauties were resplendent in the day, nighttime was when urban life really came alive. 

Natasha had been reluctant, to say the least, to let Ava out of the hotel after dark, out of her sight at all, in fact. Ava would like to have brushed off Natasha’s trepidation as nothing more than the spy’s high strung habit of looking over her shoulder, but after everything in Istanbul, she knew better. It’s not paranoia if they’re really after you.

Whittling down the Black Widow’s obstinacy was not something Ava thought she could achieve in her lifetime, but after a long hard stare, Natasha relented, only under the conditions that she would tuck her sabres (the extendable-retractable ones they’d given her at the Academy) into a compact satchel, and that if she wasn’t back within 45 minutes, Natasha was allowed to throttle as many people as she liked until Ava was returned.

 _“Be careful. You are valuable,_ sestrenka. _”_

__Ava wasn’t quite sure whether either notions were supposed to be touching or not, but she didn’t push it, not with her newfound freedom on the line. And she didn’t have to ask to whom her value concerned._ _

__By that time, Avenida Atlântica was alive with the colourful night market. Local vendors peddled their wares at the tops of their voices in rapid Portuguese, brandishing everything from tacky souvenirs and local handicrafts to deafening Brazil shirts and skewers of charred, smoky picanha. Natasha had come to expect Rio’s balmy climate; beyond SHIELD issue gear, she’d insisted they pack nothing and buy all their clothes from cheap shops and stalls of the Bazar Centro de Saara. Ava, drenching her neon tank top and awkwardly-fitting surf shorts with more sweat than should be humanly possible, couldn’t say the same. Her cheap sandals slapped the patterned paving as she skirted the throngs of tourists and Cariocas, and thought about Alexei._ _

__Alexei, with his too perfect smile, and hazel eyes that cared so deeply. Her Alexei, and the way he walked with his hands in his pockets, or how his hair went from pitch to chocolate when it caught the sun. The memory of his grin uncoiled the deep, familiar sadness inside her, the ever-burning flame of exhaustion and unyielding grief that licked new burns into her heart with unrelenting regularity. But though these weeks without leads may have heightened her anticipation for vengeance, they also smoothed out her edges, unfolded the ones that curled wretchedly after Istanbul. Her mind was cooled metal, steely and sharp like the edge of a knife, ready to be wielded._ _

__Copacabana Beach (world-renowned for its white sands, Natasha had mentioned) meandered to her right - just metres away from the boulevard - as she picked up her pace in the direction of the Copacabana Palace Hotel, well aware of her steadily decreasing time allowance._ _

The silhouette of Christ the Redeemer offered an embrace to the blushing sky as the sun kissed the lip of the horizon. _Reality isn’t usually that pretty_. Natasha had said so about the view from Mount Corcovado, the peak she was taking Ava to the next day. Her eyes became a little misty when she described it and there was something strangely personal about joining Natasha’s ritualistic visit that again, Ava hadn’t dwelt upon. Though their relationship had softened since New York, the tangle of crossed wires that was their consciousnesses somehow kept them simultaneously at arm’s length and intimately familiar with the planes of each other’s mind. 

__Ava had no complaints about the accommodation. Tony had lent them the sixth-floor penthouse at the Copacabana Palace Hotel Howard Stark had bought in the 50s as a base of operations, and aside from adding wide-screen plasma screens to every room, Tony had left the suite completely intact. It had a rooftop pool, for god’s sake, though she was pretty sure that wasn’t high on Natasha’s recon list. Ava, on the other hand, had been meaning to try it out since their arrival._ _

__The hotel was all swank and her glaring get-up garnered a few disdainful glances, so Ava was relieved when her elevator ride to the top floor was unaccompanied, but out of all the scenes she could have returned to, the one that awaits her was possibly the least expected._ _

__The operations equipment was incongruous against the shiny kitchen surfaces, but that had all been pushed out of the way in favour of pots and pans and chopping boards. Natasha was swearing at the oven while fiddling with its knobs and though she must have registered Ava’s entrance, she didn’t show it._ _

__“What are you-?”  
“Cooking.” Natasha leant back, hands on hips and blowing a frizzy lock out of her face, apparently having bullied the oven into submission.  
Ava blinked. “Oh.”  
“What?”  
Ava kicked off her sandals, resisting a smile. “Nothing. Just hadn’t labelled you as a cooking person.”  
“Have you ever considered yourself a little ‘judgy’?”  
“I’ll take it back if you produce something edible.”_ _

__Natasha scowled, but went back to the oven as Ava tossed the satchel holding her blades in her room bigger than the entire basement at the Y. After checking their various scanners and busying herself with other miscellaneous recon chores (officially, they’re combining fieldwork with vacation - that was the only reason Coulson had let her go), Ava craned over Natasha’s shoulder - which wasn’t hard; Natasha was not a tall person.  
“What are you even trying to make?”  
“It’s a surprise.” This surprise was causing an air of unusual agitation to permeate Natasha’s usually cool exterior. She was seeming more stressed than Ava had seen on most missions.  
“I really don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to-”  
“Of course it is.” Natasha flapped her hand. “Be useful. Set the table or something.”_ _

__But unsticking the lumps of chicken from the dish deemed impossible, so Natasha just chucked the whole thing in the bin and they ended up on the roof, reclining in deckchairs and watching stars flicker on the rippling pool surface._ _

__“What’s next on the menu, chef?” Smirking, Ava ducked the energy bar missile.  
“Fine. Maybe I’m not a cooking person.” But as Natasha sipped her red wine, Ava could see a smile play on her lips._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated x


End file.
